


Sixth Year.

by jexellan



Series: Hufflepuff!Grantaire [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Hogwarts AU, Hufflepuff!Grantaire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jexellan/pseuds/jexellan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marius comes to visit them over the summer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1.

Marius comes to visit them over the summer.

Marius is practically bouncing the entire time.

He’s happy for Marius, he really is.

If he starts keeping a silent count of how many times he mentions Cosette, well…

(It’s 106 by the end of the first day. Give or take.)

—-

They’re all spread out, occupying various spaces in Jehan’s room. Jehan’s sprawled across the carpet, scribbling in his notebook. Marius is finishing up (yet another) letter to Cosette at Jehan’s desk.

He sits curled up on the window sill, sketchbook in his lap, a bottle set on the small remaining area in front of his bare feet.

Marius sets down his pen, leaning back in his chair and stretching, glancing over at where he sits by the window. A slight frown.

_“It’s two in the afternoon, R.”_

_“Very astute observation, my handsome Pontmercy.”_

_“Don’t you think it’s a little early for firewhiskey?”_

Jehan looks up from his notebook.

His own pen freezes on the page of his sketchbook (that stupidly perfect jawline, his pencils do it no justice). 

Silence for a beat. Two.

 _“Boys, I have sandwiches!”_  Jehan’s mother’s voice calling from the kitchen.

(Marius doesn’t bring it up again for the rest of his stay.)

—-

He fills another sketchbook.

He and Jehan take a bus into London so he can buy a new one.

Afterwards, he tells Jehan he needs to stop by the Leaky Cauldron for a minute.

Bahorel’s friend is intimidating, but friendly enough.

(If Jehan is disappointed when he pulls a full bottle of firewhiskey from his bag later on that evening, he doesn’t show it.)

—-

Just like last summer, Jehan’s mother is baking a cake for his birthday.

Just like last summer, he argues that  _it’s not necessary, thank you so much, but really, you don’t have to._

Just like last summer, she hushes him and asks if cream cheese icing is alright.

Just like last summer, the cake is delicious.

(Just like last summer, nothing from his parents.

Just like last summer, he wishes that didn’t upset him.)

—-

O.W.L. results come in the next day.

Four O’s, one A (but that’s History of Magic, so he doesn’t care), and the rest are E’s.

Jehan’s thrilled about getting an O in Herbology.

—-

A first year gets Sorted into Hufflepuff. 

The boy doesn’t move. Instead, he lifts the Hat off of his head, and looks up towards McGonagall, who waves her wand. The word, “Hufflepuff!” appears in the air.

The boy grins and hops off the stool, running over to their table.

(The next day, he finds himself in the Muggle section of the library, checking out all of the books he can find on sign language.)

—-

Marius’ eyebrows fly up when he sees the giant stack of books on the night stand next to the bottle.

“That much homework on the second day of class?”

He grunts, his head buried in the book he currently has open.

Marius shrugs, before he heads out of the dormitory to meet Cosette.

—-

Once he’s at least familiar with some basis signs, he approaches the boy, who’s sitting by himself in the common room, looking frustrated as he tries scratches out a large portion of an essay.

He squats down next to him, tapping him on the shoulder. When the boy looks up, he signs, “ _You okay? You look like you want to set that essay on fire.”_

The boy’s eyes widen, before he quickly signs back,  _“I have no idea what I’m doing. And you’re the first person who’s been able to sign!”_  He grins.

He smiles, signing,  _“I’m still learning. Tell you what. I’ll help you with your essay if you help me out with my signing. Deal?”_

The boy’s grin widens. He nods his head, sticking his hand out to shake. 

They shake. When he pulls back he signs,  _“I’m Grantaire.”_

_“I’m Roger.”_

—-

This year, he has patrols with one of the Slytherins. He’s already forgotten her name.

She prefers to split up and take one section on her own while he takes another.

He doesn’t argue.

—-

Enjolras has become even  _more_  intense over the summer, if that is even possible.

Apparently, along with the growing threat of a new radical group of pureblood activists, the Minister of Magic as been hinting that he may have pureblood sympathies.

(He hadn’t heard this, but then again, he doesn’t read the Prophet.)

Jehan is tense beside him as Enjolras speaks.

—-

He pretends he doesn’t notice how McGonagall’s stern gaze lingers on his face, on the dark splotches underneath his eyes, growing more and more prominent each day.

Or how Flitwick remarks that he looks pale.

Or how Jehan eyes him worriedly when he doesn’t eat much at dinner.

—-

Still, his grades don’t suffer.

Still, his younger classmates walk a little taller.

Still, he makes time to chat with Roger every day.

—-

He starts to speak out more at Enjolras’ meetings.

 _“Squibs aren’t helpless creatures, you know. They don’t_ need _us to fight for them.”_

Enjolras’ takes a deep breath, as if trying to compose himself.

 _“We aren’t just fighting for_ them _. We’re fighting for a_ better world _. A better tomorrow, a world where all are_ equal _. Wizards of all blood-statuses. Muggles._ Everyone _.”_

_“Bit of a lofty goal, don’t you think?”_

Enjolras ignores this.

—-

 _“You really shouldn’t antagonize him,”_  says Jehan as they make their way down the corridor after the meeting.

 _“Oh, but it’s so entertaining!”_  Courfeyrac quips, slinging an arm around Jehan’s shoulder. (Jehan, who’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink at the contact.) _“Plus, it doesn’t hurt that it makes the sexual tension_ skyrocket _.”_ Jehan tries to stifle a giggle.

 _“Courf, your ability to insert things that aren’t there never ceases to amaze me.”_ (He  _really_  hopes he’s not blushing.)

_“Funny, that’s not what you were saying last night.”_

_“Only in your wildest dreams, my friend. You’re not my type.”_

_“Yeah, I’d imagine your type involves long blonde hair and the face of a Greek god, with a permanent stick up the—”_

_“Oh, shut up.”_

Courfeyrac smirks.  _“I myself prefer braids over curls.”_

Jehan blushes even more so.

He thinks he sees Courfeyrac’s smile widen at that.

—-

He misses when his sketchbooks held things other than golden gods.

(He sometimes wishes he could draw an image of a face that isn’t disgusted, or angry, or furious, or exasperated.

He doesn’t have that good of an imagination, he thinks.)

—-

Christmas brings with it mistletoe.

Both Jehan and Courfeyrac stay for the holidays.

Jehan is absolutely  _glowing_.

(He drinks. He feels like he’s closer and closer to being snuffed out all-together.)

—-

Apparating lessons begin.

He’s one of the first to do it successfully.

(He thinks maybe that hollow feeling in his chest makes it easier.)

—-

Enjolras announces his plans for organizing a protest for Squib rights at the Ministry that summer.

 _“We’ll start with Squib rights. Make ourselves be heard. Make the Minister nervous. This is only the beginning, though. We_ will _rally the people. We_ will _make our voices heard. The people_ will _rise, and we_ will _bring down pureblood supremacy, once and for all!”_

Cheers and shouts of assent sound through the room.

He thinks that he’s never seen anything quite as awe-inspiring—and terrifying—as Enjolras in that moment, eyes ablaze, jaw set, seemingly towering above everyone else in the room.

That doesn’t mean he agrees with him.

(He thinks maybe he might’ve went a bit overboard with the firewhiskey before the meeting. He’s drunk enough that what little filter he has managed to hold on to at past meetings seems to have disappeared.

He’s drunk enough that he doesn’t care.)

 _“But who says that Squibs_ want _us to fight for them?”_

His voice carries more than he thought it would.

The room becomes eerily still.

He continues, his intense—albeit drunken—gaze fixed on Enjolras.

“ _Have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, Squibs don’t_ want _wizards swooping in to_ save them from their pitiful existence _?_ ” He bites out the last part, his voice dripping with sarcasm.  _“Who are we to speak for them? Who are we—”_  He finds himself on his feet, wandering among the tablets and chairs in the room, stumbling occasionally.  _“—to play the almighty heroes? We’re not gods.”_  He laughs bitterly. _“Well, most of of aren’t, anyway.”_

(He’s dangerously close to saying something he will truly regret.

But he just can’t seem to  _stop_.)

 _“But even you—even_ you _, Enjolras, even you, the brilliantly burning_ Apollo _, can’t save those who don’t_ want _to be saved, who don’t_ need _to be saved. And it’s bullshit to think otherwise.”_

He’s standing toe-to-toe with Enjolras now, glaring defiantly at him, wobbling slightly.

(They’re close to the same height now, much more so than that moment like this, three years ago. 

However, just like three years ago, he still feels small.)

Enjolras, whose face remained curiously blank during his entire rant, clenches his jaw, and his mouth is now a thin line.

Anger doesn’t begin to cover it.

This is rage.

This is  _fury_.

 _“And who are_ you _, Grantaire?”_  He flinches slightly under the force of Enjolras’ words.  _“Who are you? A drunk. A miserable,_ careless _drunk who doesn’t give a shit about anything. Who_ believes _in_ nothing _, who_ **does** nothing _.”_

He looks as if he’s been slapped across the face, but Enjolras goes on mercilessly.

 _“You think you’ve got the entire world figured out? You think you understand the plight of the people? You know_ nothing _. The only sure thing for you is the bottom of the bottle.”_

He’s no longer looking at Enjolras. His shoulders are slumped forward, his head is down. But Enjolras is not quite finished.

 _“You come to these meetings drunk and half asleep, you doodle and laugh and pick apart everything I say. What are you even doing here? Why do you come? If you don’t care for this cause, then why don’t you just_ leave _?”_

Silence.

And then he does just that.

—-

He doesn’t return to the common room that night.


	2. Part 2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He watches as the door slowly swings back, not quite closing completely.
> 
> (Grantaire hadn’t slammed the door shut, like one might’ve expected. He’d simply pushed the door open and sped off.)
> 
> Silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Enjolras' POV.

He watches as the door slowly swings back, not quite closing completely.

(Grantaire hadn’t slammed the door shut, like one might’ve expected. He’d simply pushed the door open and sped off.)

Silence.

He feels several eyes on him. He turns away from the door to face the room.

Some—Marius, Courfeyrac, Bahorel—aren’t looking at him. Marius is looking towards the door, looking as though he wants to get up and go after—but Jehan has a hand on his arm, whispering something quickly into his ear. Marius looks unsure, but nods.

Then, Jehan turns away from Marius with the most vicious glare he has ever seen. And it’s directed at him.

Others are eyeing him with apprehensive looks on their faces.

He takes a deep, slow, calming breath before speaking, bringing a hand up and rubbing his face tiredly.

 _“No one is forcing any of you to be here. You’re all free to make your own choices. That’s what this whole group is about;_ freedom _.”_

He pauses, before sighing.  _“I think we’re done for today. Same time next week, if you want to be here.”_

He turns away and moves towards the front desk to gather his things, as the sounds of scraping chairs and a general murmur fills the room. As he stacks up his various folders and slides them into his back, Combeferre appears beside him, muttering,  _“I think Jehan would like a word. I’ll see you in the common room.”_

With one last clap on the shoulder, Combeferre heads for the door. When he finally zips up his bag and turns, the room is empty.

Apart from himself and Jehan.

Jehan, who is standing in front of him with arms crossed, wearing an expression of barely contained fury.

They consider each other for a moment.

Then Jehan speaks.

_“Just so you know, the only thing that is keeping me from hexing you until you can’t feel below your waist is the fact that it would only upset him even more.”_

The look in Jehan’s eyes tells him that  _no_ , Jehan is  _not_  lying.

He would be slightly terrified if he wasn’t so exasperated.

He huffs.  _“He was out of line, Jehan—”_

_“You know Roger Douglas?”_

He blinks. He hadn’t been expecting that.

_“That’s the deaf Hufflepuff first year, right?”_

Jehan nods.  _“Mhm. Did you know that Grantaire knows sign language?”_

He blinks again.  _“No, I can’t say that I did.”_

_“He does. And I can tell you right now, he did not know sign language before this year.”_

A pause. He doesn’t really know what he’s supposed to say.

Jehan continues.  _“He skipped Defense last week. We were about to leave the common room, and there was a second year crying by herself in the corner.”_

Another pause.

_“Every Wednesday evening at 7:00, you’ll find him in the second spare classroom on the right in the Charms corridor. He tutors third years, you see.”_

He feels his shoulders sag slightly.

_“And today before the meeting, he was sitting in the common room entertaining a bunch of first years by changing his hair and eyebrows to ridiculous colors.”_

He snorts.

 _“He does all of that, and more._ And _still manages to get top marks._ And _do his patrols. And you know what? He does it all without saying a word about it. He doesn’t ask for favors. He doesn’t ask for recognition. To be quite honest, I don’t even think he_ realizes _exactly how much of an impact he’s had on our House. On all of us.”_

The words hang in the air between them.

 _“I consider you a friend, Enjolras. I respect you, and I am behind the cause one hundred percent. But.”_ Jehan takes a few steps forward, until they’re almost nose-to-nose. A cold look that he has never seen on Jehan’s face before is directed at him.  _“Don’t think for one_ second _that I won’t hex you if you ever say what you said to Grantaire again.”_

With one last glare, Jehan turns and strides out of the room, without another word.

He stands still for a moment, blinking.

And then he sighs.

_“Well, shit.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's so short. I'm telling you, the next couple will be longer! (Most likely.)


	3. Part 3.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (“Who believes in nothing, who does nothing.”)
> 
> He finds himself atop the astronomy tower, sitting far enough away from the ledge that he doesn’t accidentally stumble down towards his death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: suicidal themes

**_(“Who_ believes _in_ nothing _, who_ does nothing.” _)_**

He finds himself atop the astronomy tower, sitting far enough away from the ledge that he doesn’t accidentally stumble down towards his death.

(He’s thought about dying before, late nights and the demons in his head coming alive more so than usual and sometimes drowning them in firewhiskey isn’t quite enough to silence them.

But, he thinks, falling off the astronomy tower wouldn’t be his first choice of departure.

But then again, it’s good to have options.)

He’s found himself on top of the tower a lot lately, though.

(Maybe it’s the stars. 

Maybe it’s the quiet besides the occasional gust of wind.

Maybe it’s the thought that if he really wanted to, he could—)

—-

He’s not sure how long he’s been up there when Marius finds him, slumped against a far wall and glowering at his hands.

(Why does he not have a bottle with him? He could really use a bottle right now.)

“There  _you are,”_  Marius says, relief seeping into his voice.  _“We’ve been looking_ everywhere _for you.”_

He doesn’t look up from his hands.

(He had expected Jehan to be the one to find him eventually.

He wonders if Jehan had talked to Enjolras.

He briefly wonders if Jehan had  _hexed_  Enjolras.

He hopes not.

But the thought almost makes him smile.)

To Marius’ credit, he doesn’t say anything else after that, just stands a few paces away, somewhat awkwardly, before nodding slightly to himself and closing the distance, sliding down the wall to sit on the ground next to them.

It’s quiet for a few minutes.  


A wolf howls in the distance.

Eventually, he takes a deep—somewhat shaky—breath.

_“I come up here, sometimes,”_  he says. He feels Marius tense slightly beside him.  _“My sister and I used to come up here and hang out sometimes during my first couple years here. We don’t anymore, but.”_  He pauses.  _“We’re both just busier, I guess. But I still do. Come up here, I mean.”_

He’s not sure why he’s telling Marius any of this.

Maybe it’s just to fill the silence.

**( _And who are you, Grantaire?_ )**

Marius says nothing.

He appreciates this.

_“Some nights if I can’t sleep, I’ll sneak up here. It’s easier than you’d think, coming up here without getting caught.”_  He snorts a bit before continuing. _“Anyway, it’s nice, coming up here late at night. It’s…peaceful. And it’s far enough away that I’m not kept up by your snoring.”_  He nudges Marius’ shoulder in a half-hearted attempt at playfulness. Marius, bless him, looks indignant at first, then chuckles.

They sit together in silence for another few minutes.

_“He’s wrong, you know,”_  Marius says softly.

(He doesn’t need to ask to know who  _he_  is.)

_“You’re not worthless, Grantaire. Farthest thing from it, in fact.”  
_

He snorts at this, but doesn’t comment.

Marius frowns.  _“I mean it. Everyone in the House would agree with me, too.”_

A pause.

_“I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with sometimes—no, seriously, it’s fine, I get it,”_  Marius holds up a hand, smiling slightly when his brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to interrupt.  _“I know I’m a bit wired sometimes, and—and yeah, I probably talk about Cosette a lot.”_

Another snort, and a mumbled, “ _No kidding._ ” Not without affection, though.

“But,” Marius continues,  _“You put up with me on a regular basis. And help me with my charms homework. And you let me know whenever I’m being a complete idiot—most of the time, anyway.”_  He snickers a bit, before turning serious once again.  _“The point I’m trying to make is, you’re a good person, Grantaire. Great, in fact. And—and despite what some people might think, or what_ you _might think, you really_ do _make a difference. And we’re all better for knowing you.”_

He doesn’t know what to say. 

(He’s not sure if he believes Marius.

But.

But, it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t appreciate the thought.)

A few more moments of silence, before Marius—somewhat awkwardly—pats him on the shoulder, and moves to stand.

“ _You coming?_ ” Marius asks, brushing dirt off of his pants.

A moment, before he shakes his head. “ _Nah. I think I’m gonna stay a bit longer._ ”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Marius’ shoulders sag a bit in disappointment. But all Marius does is nod and say,  _“Okay. Well, don’t stay out too late. We have a match tomorrow, after all, and Cosette would kill you if you didn’t watch her kick ass.”_

He snorts.  _“She_ is _terrifying, I’ll give her that.”_  They both chuckle a bit at that.

Another moment, and Marius nods.  _“‘Night, Grantaire.”_

_“G’night, Marius.”_

Marius turns and walks toward the steps.

_“And thank you.”_  He says it softly. He’s a little surprised when Marius pauses.

_“Sure thing.”_  Marius says simply.

A short pause, as if Marius wants to say something else.

Footsteps start again, and make their way down the staircase.

He sits and stares at his hands, which are shaking slightly.

He’s itching for a drink.

But he doesn’t move to get up.

—-

He doesn’t go back to the common room that night.

But he’s at breakfast the next morning, and the match afterwards.

(Gryffindor wins.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that updates have been very slow lately. Thanks for being patient! 
> 
> And thank you to all the lovely people who have left comments/reviews, and to the people who have drawn some beautiful art for the 'verse!
> 
> ALSO: Since Tumblr is being dumb and now the "Hufflepuff!Grantaire" tag seems to include EVERYTHING Hufflepuff and EVERYTHING Grantaire, the new tag to check for updates in will just be "HufflepuffGrantaire", no spaces/exclamation point. So yeah, any update will be tagged with that, and I always post updates to Tumblr first!
> 
> And if you have any artwork/graphics, stick it in that tag, too, so I can scream like a little girl and flail all over the place and reblog the poop out of it so that everyone may see me crying and yelling about PEOPLE DRAWING ME THINGS! (WHICH I AM STILL NOT OVER WOW PEOPLE HAVE ACTUALLY DRAWN THINGS FOR THIS 'VERSE SWEET JUSTICE)
> 
> Another sidenote: I'm not entirely sure why I decided to italicize all dialogue when I started this 'verse, but it's kind of irritating to keep up. So if I happen to miss italicizing snippets of dialogue here and there, my bad.


	4. Part 4.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the next couple days, he pretends not to notice how Jehan and Marius stick around a bit closer than usual. 
> 
> (Hovering. Hovering is the word.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hey. It's been a while.
> 
> Slight formatting change: I'm not doing that thing with the dialogue being in italics anymore. Not sure why I did it in the first place, but yeah, not doing it anymore. (Except whenever Roger and Grantaire are signing to each other.)
> 
> tw: suicide mentions/implications, (underage) alcohol abuse

Over the next couple days, he pretends not to notice how Jehan and Marius stick around a bit closer than usual. 

(Hovering. Hovering is the word.)

He pretends not to notice how Jehan is watching him carefully when he thinks he’s not paying attention, how Jehan bites his lip with a look of worry on his face.

He pretends not to notice Bahorel and Courfeyrac aggressively trying not to mention anything that has to do with the meeting. 

(He pretends not to notice how Bahorel pointedly gets up and leaves the Gryffindor table as soon as Enjolras sits across from him at lunch.

He pretends not to notice Courfeyrac whispering furiously to Enjolras at dinner, an uncharacteristically cold expression on his face.

He _definitely_ pretends not to notice whenever Enjolras glances in his direction.)

 

—-

 

He’s sitting with Roger in the common room the Monday of the following week, finishing some Charms homework while Roger reads a chapter for Herbology, when he feels a poke on his arm.

He looks up to see Roger frowning at him.

 “ _What’s up?”_ He signs, confused.

Roger bites his lip, brows furrowed, before signing back, “ _Are you okay?_ ”

He raises an eyebrow. “ _Of course I am._ ”

Roger shakes his head. “ _No, you’re not. And you haven’t been._ ”

He is taken aback by the intensity of Roger’s stare, the sharpness of his signs. He thinks he hasn’t seen that look on a first year before. 

(He thinks maybe it’s closer to one he’s seen on some of his professors. 

Ones he pretends not to notice.)

He sighs. “ _I’m fine, Roger. I’m just tired._ ”

Roger looks frustrated. “ _I’m deaf, not stupid. It’s more than that._ ” He pauses his signing, biting his lip again, as if searching for words, before he continues slowly. “ _My mom, she._ ” Another pause. “ _She had that same kind of look a lot. That you do right now._ ” Pause. “ _Like she was in pain. Just by being awake._ ”

He’s not sure if he’s breathing or not. He tries to suck in some air, shakily.

Roger looks at him with sad eyes. He signs, “ _You don’t have to tell me anything, if you don’t want to. But. You should tell someone._ ” Pause. Roger’s hands twitch like he wants to say more, but he just drops his hands in his lap.

They look at each other for a moment, before Roger moves to gather his things into his bag. As he gets up to leave, though, he moves forward and tentatively wraps his tiny arms around his shoulders.

He stares ahead, eyes wide, before Roger pulls away and signs, “ _See you later,_ ” before turning to head up to the dormitories. 

(He doesn’t move from his spot until Jehan and Marius return to the common room, almost an hour later.)

 

—-

 

He goes to the astronomy tower that night.

He moves to sit against his usual wall, bottle in hand, but is surprised to find somebody already sitting there.

The girl—Slytherin, if the scarf is anything to go by—glares up at him, as if daring him to try to make her move. He notices an empty bottle by her feet.

He holds up his bottle, eyebrow raised. “Got room for one more?”

She narrows her eyes, sizing him up, before scooting over to make room against the wall next to her.

He plops down next to her, letting his head thunk back against the wall before downing a long gulp, before holding the bottle out for her. She snatches it, downing an equally large gulp. He looks on, impressed.

They sit in silence for a little while, not quite comfortable, but not quite awkward, either, passing the bottle back and forth. He figures she’s being kind enough to share the wall with him, he doesn’t need to ruin it with annoying chatter.

She’s the first one to speak up.

“You’re Grantaire, right?”

He startles, sloshing a little bit of liquor down his front as he was mid-sip. He curses, rubbing angrily at it. The girl snorts.

He glances at her, lets out a huff. “That’d be me, yeah.” He closes his eyes, letting his head thunk against the wall.

“My sister talks about you. Says you help her with her Transfiguration homework a lot.”

He opens his eyes, frowning. He looks over at the girl. “Who’s your sister?”

“Her name’s Azelma. She’s a fourth year.”

The name does ring a bell. He smiles slightly, turning his head back and closing his eyes again. “Oh yeah. She turned my ink pot into a hedgehog the other day. Impressive, considering she was trying to turn it into a cactus.”

He hears a chuckle from beside him. 

“Yeah, I met him. She named him Blot. Gave him to Gavroche." 

That name sounded slightly familiar as well.

“Little second year Gryffindor, right?”

“That’s the one. He’s my brother.”

“Ah.” He opens his eyes, glancing over at the girl. “And you are…?”

She smirks, snatching the bottle out of his hand. “Eponine.” She downs the rest of the contents.

“Good to meet you, Eponine.”

“Likewise.”

They sit in a slightly more companionable silence. The night is chilly enough for them to see their breath, but warm enough that their respective sweaters are enough to keep the worst of the chill out. 

“You know, it’s past curfew. You really shouldn’t be up here.”

She snorts. “Neither should you.”

“Yeah, well, prefect and all that.”

“You’re not gonna do anything.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I’m not. Too tired.”

She sighs. “Yeah. I know the feeling.”

He doesn’t ask.

She doesn’t offer up.

(They chat for another hour or so, about nothing of great importance.

It’s nice. 

He doesn’t ask why she was up there. She doesn’t ask him.

He gets the feeling that they have some common ground there.)

 

—-

 

Jehan doesn’t bat an eye whenever Eponine joins them at the Hufflepuff table for breakfast the next day. Marius, on the other hand, chokes on his bacon.

(He sees Eponine’s cheeks flush slightly, but she keeps her chin up haughtily, not acknowledging Marius.

He doesn’t ask.

He thinks he won’t bother asking Marius about it later, either.)

He helps himself to one slice of toast, pretending not to notice the relative quiet that seems to have settled over their section of the Hufflepuff table, and the murmurs that seem to escalate at the other House tables.

It’s not completely out of the ordinary for people of other Houses to sit at different tables—Courfeyrac often comes over to visit Jehan, and occasionally Bahorel will comes over and steal potatoes from his plate—but the fact that it’s a _Slytherin_ sitting at the _Hufflepuff_ table seems to be causing more of a stir than usual.

He passes her the tray of sausage, and tries not to think about casting a Silencing Charm on everyone in the near vicinity. (He'd forgotten to take a hangover potion this morning, so his head is pounding something fierce.)

 

—-

 

Eponine sits at the Hufflepuff table for meals from then on.

 

—- 

 

The words Roger signed to him still hang over his head.

**( _Like she was in pain. Just by being awake._ )**

He desperately tries to block it out, but—

**( _But. You should tell someone.)_**

He drinks more.

 

—-

 

He doesn’t go to that week’s meeting.

Jehan and Marius don't push.

He's grateful for that.

—-

 

He drinks more.

 

—-

 

**_(Like she was in pain.)_**

He thinks, maybe, he’s a little bit terrified of heights.

Maybe that’s why he’s not a fan of flying.

**_(Just by being awake.)_**

Standing on far edge of the astronomy tower right now, though, he feels a strange sense of calm.

(Of course, that could be the firewhiskey that’s gone to his head. He doesn’t know at this point. He doesn’t much care, either.)

He wobbles a bit, teetering on the edge— 

A pair of arms wraps around his stomach, yanking him back.

The sound of shattering glass. (He must’ve let go of the bottle. He’d had a bottle, right? He always has a bottle.)

The sudden yank threw him off-balance, sending himself—and the body yanking him—crashing to the cold stone floor of the tower.

His elbow makes contact with the ground first, pain shooting up his arm, breaking through the haze of drunkenness. Air hisses out from between his teeth, along with a tight, “Fucking hell—“

“What the _fuck_ were you _doing_ , Grantaire?”

His eyes snap open, pain momentarily sidelined because—

He knows that voice—

_Shit._

“Fuck, I’m not _nearly_ drunk enough for this.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can guarantee the next update will be up shortly, because it's already written. *gasp*
> 
> Thanks for being patient, guys! I wasn't even sure if I was going to continue this at all, to be honest, but then I was looking over it at 2AM last night and I had a sudden spurt of inspiration, so. Yeah. Hopefully you aren't TOO disappointed with this update.
> 
> Also, some side note:
> 
> 1\. I'm not entirely sure what the actual age difference between Ep, Azelma, and Gav are, so I took some liberties?
> 
> 2\. The timeline in this particular section takes place within a week of the meeting of the last chapter (Looks like meetings are held on Fridays? Since there was a Quidditch match the next day.) I apologize for any inconsistencies in the fic's timeline. It's been a while. I tried.


	5. Part 5.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing heavily, clings to a desperate drunken hope that the person up here with him isn’t—
> 
> “Shit, you didn’t hit your head on the ground, did you?”
> 
> He’s completely obliterated, he’s imagining that’s concern in that voice—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The usual triggers: alcohol abuse, mentions/implications of suicide.

He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing heavily, clings to a desperate drunken hope that the person up here with him isn’t—

“Shit, you didn’t hit your head on the ground, did you?”

He’s completely obliterated, he’s imagining that’s _concern_ in that voice—

He opens his eyes again, only to see sharp blue ones staring down at him. 

He is so, so drunk.

(And not nearly drunk enough.) 

He moves to sit up, manages to bump his elbow again, and, oh yeah, pain, that was a thing.

“Elbow, not my head. ‘M fine,” He mumbled. He’s finally sitting up, and tries to avoid looking at the person next to him, he really does, but—

“What the _fuck_ , Grantaire?” Ah, there was that fury, he knew it well— “You almost—and—what are you _doing_ up here?”

Enjolras really is beautiful when he’s angry.

_No, shit, come on, get your head together—_

“I could ask you the same question, you know.” He makes to stand up, stumbling a bit, before Enjolras is there, grabbing an arm, steadying him, guiding them farther back until they are up against a wall more towards the center of the tower.

(He does not think about how Enjolras is touching him right now.

He does not.

He does _not_.)

When his back hits the wall, he slides down to the ground, letting his head fall back against the wall. He looks up at Enjolras, who looks frustrated and angry—and all sorts of beautiful—who then sucks in a deep breath as if to calm himself before sliding down the wall next to him.

“I’m patrolling tonight, if you must know,” Enjolras says through gritted teeth. “What were you thinking, being up here this late? And that close to the ledge, you could’ve—“ He cuts off, sucks in another deep breath.

“Well, I clearly wasn’t—thinking, I mean.” He looks down at his lap, at his now empty hands. (Why does he not have a bottle, he should have a bottle—) “And. I come up here a lot. Most nights.” Pauses. Closes his eyes. “Don’t sleep. Can’t sleep.”

Silence.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

More silence.

He hears, rather than sees, Enjolras shift a bit next to him.

“It’s past curf—“ Another deep breath. 

He can’t hold in his snort. 

He thinks he feels Enjolras’ glare on him.

(It’s okay. He’s used to it. Really.)

“You weren’t at the meeting yesterday.”

Huh. He really wasn’t expecting that.

“Didn’t think you wanted me there.”

Might as well be honest. He’s drunk. He’s tired. It’s not like he can run away now.

(Tired. So tired.)

A pause.

“I’m—well, you’re always there, and—I just—“

Huh. Enjolras stumbling over his words. That’s a new one.

It makes him open his eyes, slowly turn his gaze towards Enjolras.

Enjolras flushes a bit, glancing away. 

_He’s so lovely when he’s flushed—_

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras blurts out.

…What.

“I went too far last week,” Enjolras rushes, looking straight ahead, not at him, jaw set. “I was—you’re just so _infuriating_ and—I mean, that was no excuse for what I said, but—“

“Enjolras.” 

 Enjolras cuts off, looking at him now, slightly wild-eyed. 

“You were right.” He chuckles darkly, turning to look out to the sky, to the forest off in the distance. “No need to apologize for being right.”

“That’s not—“

“You were spot on, really,” He goes on, cutting Enjolras off. “About everything. About me.”

  _Fuck_ , he’s really not having this conversation with _Enjolras_ , is he?

“I was…misinformed, before.” Enjolras says, sounding—ashamed? No, that’s not it.

He snorts. “No, you really weren’t. Drunk. Miserable. Doesn’t give a shit or do anything or believe in anything. That’s me." 

Silence.

Well, at least Enjolras can rest easy knowing he’s right about him.

“…Jehan told me. About some of what you did. What you do.”

Enjolras’ voice is quiet.

He closes his eyes and doesn’t say anything.

Enjolras continues.

“I just—I don’t understand. You’re _clearly_ intelligent—prefect, top marks—and you _care_. You care about your Housemates, your friends. You help people. You _learned sign language_ just to talk to that first year, for Merlin’s sake.”

**_(I’m deaf, I’m not stupid.)_**

“I guess what I don’t understand is…why don’t you believe?” 

He swallows. “I told you why before, Squibs aren’t helpless—“

“No, that’s not—why don’t you believe in _people_? Why don’t you believe that we can make a difference? That _you_ can make a difference?” Enjolras’ voice is earnest now.

He opens his eyes and looks over to see—

_Fire, there’s that fire again._  

Enjolras goes on.

“You _help_ people, Grantaire, you’re making a difference already, why don’t you believe that we can do that, too?”

He’s already shaking his head before Enjolras is done speaking.

“I’m not doing jack shit.” He spits out, shaking his head. “All those kids, they’re helping _themselves_. They’re doing all the work. I’m just—“ He cuts off, swallowing.

Enjolras is looking at him, brow furrowed. 

(He wants to reach up and smooth it out.

He doesn’t.) 

“I’m just an empty bottle, Enjolras. Just an empty bottle.” He looks down at his empty hand. Flexes it. He needs a drink. “And you should’ve just let me fall over and shatter.”

His voice cracks on the last word. He’s horrified to feel hot tears welling up in his eyes.

He feels a hand on his shoulder. 

He doesn’t look up. He can’t.

Because now that the tears have started, he can’t find it in him to stop.

 

—-

 

The next morning, he wakes up in his own bed.

He doesn’t remember how, exactly.

But he _does_ remember—

**_(What the fuck were you doing, Grantaire?)_ **

**_(—you’re just so infuriating and—)_**

**_(You help people, Grantaire, you’re making a difference already—)_**

Oh, Merlin help him.

 

—-

 

**_[Enjolras’ POV]_ **

 

He doesn’t know what to do.

He walks back up towards Gryffindor Tower, after having made certain that Grantaire was back at the Hufflepuff common room—Jehan had been awake, had had a feeling that tonight would be one of those nights.

(“Does…does this happen a lot?”

The look Jehan had given him told him that he doesn’t want to know.)

He has no idea—no idea at all—what made Grantaire get to this point.

He thinks maybe he doesn’t want to know.

But…

But he wants him to _believe_.

He wants him to believe in _people_.

Maybe more than that, though—he wants Grantaire to believe in _himself_.

 

—-

 

When he finally gets into bed in his dormitory, he lays there staring up at the top of his four-poster bed, filled with a familiar drive, a fierce determination—though not directed towards the usual subjects.

He wants to vow to do whatever he can to make certain Grantaire never again breaks down like he did tonight. 

The rational side of him knows that that’s not how it works, that it’s not that simple.

(The irrational side wants to try anyway, damn it.)

He wants to wake up Combeferre, or maybe Courfeyrac, to ask them if they have any idea how to handle something like this, but he’s exhausted.

He sleeps.

 

—-

 

That night, he dreams of falling bottles and shattering glass.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, already another update, what even.
> 
> Not sure how I feel about this one?
> 
> Thanks again for being patient, I know how it gets when you're reading a WIP and the author doesn't update for FOREVER. So yeah, you guys are great.
> 
> Feel free to stop by on Tumblr--dongofachilles.tumblr.com--and say hi!
> 
> Also, another reminder: any Hufflepuff!R content will be tagged with "HufflepuffGrantaire", no spaces (also "Hufflepuff!Grantaire" on my blog), so I'll post any links for any updates or any asks involving it in that tag. And hey, if you have any thoughts on it--or drawings, because holy crap PEOPLE HAVE DRAWN THINGS FOR THIS?--throw it in the HufflepuffGrantaire tag, because I'd love to see it! (You can also tag it with "dongofachilles".)
> 
> Thanks for reading, and thanks for the comments/kudos. You guys are stellar. *smooches all of your faces*


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